


Caravan

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Flame of Durin [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bearded Dwarf Women, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gefion wants to be anywhere but the Iron Hills, in the smothering care of a family that wants only to mold her to their ideal of a perfect daughter. Kíli would like nothing more than for the people trying to convince him to marry to leave him alone. Their meeting as Gefion delivers a commission to Erebor for a friend is only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Preparation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Hobbit Big Bang](http://hobbitstory.dreamwidth.org/), with [a sketch of the primary female character](http://archivevault.nfshost.com/image/Gefion_small_color.jpg).

Gefion knows that King Thorin is discussing the wedding of his older sister-son to a Stiffbeard from the south, and there are grumbles among the families of the Iron Hills about that. After all, no matter that the girl is the daughter of a lord of his own hall, she still is not Longbeard. Indeed, it's perhaps worse that she's the daughter of a lord, for that lord calls himself a Prince, and makes more of himself than some upstart southerner should.

Too, she thinks, the families here are upset that King Thorin is not reaching out to the Iron Hills, to Dáin his cousin, for a bride for his heir. It is expected someone should feel insulted, but those here think it would be better for some distant dwarrows to have that burden rather than themselves. Gefion isn't as certain of that as some others, though she's assured it must be because her own mother came from the Stonefoots of Ice River.

Snorting to herself, she shifts her stance slightly, watching the shallow water for movement, her hand steady on the spear she carries. Her father and brother would both throw up their hands in exasperation if they found her out here alone again, never mind that she's good enough with her spear to take out an orc just as much as catch a few fish. Besides, it's easier to think out here where no one is trying to tell her what _they_ think of the current happenings in the world.

What does it matter to her, after all, who the princes of Erebor marry? Oh, she knows a number of the ladies of the court who'd be appalled to hear that come out of her mouth, with her the only daughter of her parents. The daughter of the most prominent family of the Iron Hills short of Lord Dáin, who isn't a proper lady, nor a proper lord. Not a proper anything, really.

"Gefion!" The shout from her brother makes Gefion sigh, and shift her spear so it's not at the ready as she turns to meet Elúthr's irritated gaze. "You shouldn't be alone."

"How can I be alone when you're always following me to make certain I am not?" Gefion wades out of the river, grabbing the length of linen she'd brought to dry her feet before she settles on a broad, sun-warmed rock. "I didn't even have a chance for the sturgeon to become accustomed to my feet in the shallows before you bellowed and frightened them all away."

"You're not supposed to go out alone. You could at least have taken Vithrir with you." Elúthr brought her boots from where she'd left them, setting them down in front of her with a bit more force than necessary. "You're just lucky one of the gate-guards spotted you on your way out, and sent someone to tell me instead of father."

Luck, Gefion is certain, has nothing to do with it. Carelessness, more like, if she was spotted. She'd chosen one of the side-doors without a regular guard and a steep path just to avoid that fate. Or worse, being stopped before she got out of the close atmosphere of the halls and away from the infernal gossip. She'd rather be the subject of it - again - than listen to it.

"Vithrir is busy in the forge, and has no interest in sitting on a rock watching me fish, not even for a chance at fresh roe." Gefion dries her feet briskly, scowling a little before she drags on her boots. She'd been looking forward to a chance at fresh fish, herself, and maybe some fresh roe. "I'm not a child anymore, Elúthr, to need constant watching after."

"You're only eighty, Gefion." Elúthr doesn't move until she's on her feet, with spear and towel in hand. "You're too young to be out alone."

"I'm old enough to sign contracts, I'm old enough to get married, and I'm old enough to go off and fight if there's a war." Gefion glares at the path that leads back to the halls, and doesn't start moving, not yet. She doesn't want to go back right now. "Why am I not old enough to be out of the halls alone?"

"Gefion." Elúthr sighs, tugging at the braids in his beard. "You're not a warrior, and you're not a bride. There is..."

"I'm not really anything, am I?" Gefion starts back, stomping along the path and wishing there was something there to kick or throw her spear at.

She's not a proper lady, no matter that she prefers a lady's dress when she has to accompany her parents to court. She's not a proper young warrior, because she doesn't like to fight with sword or ax, though she's not incapable of fighting. She doesn't like to turn her hand to smithing or stone-carving, or even the damnable embroidery that her mother enjoys.

All Gefion wants is to be herself. A dwarrow-woman who fishes and fights with spear and long knife, and likes to sit where she can watch the stars. Who likes to dance and to read romantic ballads and swim. Who wants to marry someone who won't stop her from traveling wherever they go (unless of course she's pregnant or has a small dwarfling who can't be left with kin).

Most of all, more than any of that, she wants to be _away_ from the Iron Hills and her father's disappointed frowns and her brother's smothering and her mother's complaints about it being too warm.

Elúthr catches up with her after a long moment, panting a little from having to run to do so. Staying with her until they're back in the family quarters, carved deep in the rock, close to where the royal quarters were likewise delved. Too far from the surface to even imagine the stars were close. At least her parents aren't here - her mother no doubt sitting with other ladies of the court, creating some pretty tapestry or good clothes for their kin, and her father at the forge if he's not in council with Dáin.

"I cannot keep coming chasing after you, Gefion. Just stay here, and practice your letters or your needlework. Or take your ax up to the practice hall." Elúthr gives her a pained smile before leaving again, no doubt going back to his supervision of the mines that have been their family's for generations. Expecting her, as he always does, to suddenly realize she should be a proper, dutiful daughter or son - one or the other, and preferably a daughter, since their parents already have a son and heir in Elúthr.

Letting out a frustrated growl, Gefion stomps to her room, leaning her spear against the wall in its corner before sitting on her bed. The ax her brother has tried to get her to take up is gathering dust on the rack on her wall, ignored in favor of the spear she fishes with. It's not that it's not a good weapon, she knows, but that it's not a proper warrior's weapon. Not something to be carried by a noble dwarrow, much less a dwarrow woman.

Dropping back onto her furs, Gefion stares at the ceiling. She could do as suggested, or even go find her mother, and pretend to enjoy working with her. Pretend to enjoy the gossip about people who aren't even in the Iron Hills, as if the matter of the marriage of the princes of Erebor is the most important thing in the world. Except she doesn't want to pretend.

* * *

"You know your brother will have a fit if he finds out you're here again." Asta doesn't even pause in her treadling of her lathe, thin curls of wood peeling away from her chisel.

"I don't care." Gefion leans against the wall where the sunlight from the broad window is striking, basking in the early-winter warmth. It's warm in the deep stone as well, but there, she has to play at proper, and she's not wanting to do that right now. "Elúthr thinks I am still too young and vulnerable to be allowed to go off on my own. No matter that I am eighty this past mid-summer, I have completed my schooling, and I am skilled with a spear - and not merely as a tool for fishing."

"And a craft, even if it is one more of Men, or of those who have little coin to call their own," Asta points out, lifting her chisel from her work, the lathe still humming as she treddles. "No doubt that is part of his concern."

"Oh, that, and that I am not strictly male, and thus clearly must be sheltered so that I might wed and bear dwarflings." Gefion huffs, fiddling with the end of one braid. "I might perhaps want dwarflings, and a spouse, but I don't want to just sit inside the halls waiting for it to happen."

Asta chuckles, picking up another chisel to add fine lines at the edges of where each of the motifs for her current project would be carved. "I'll need someone to see this safely delivered to Erebor when it's complete, if you think you might not be entirely sick of the place from all the gossip over the Crown Prince's bride."

Snorting, Gefion watches as Asta slows the lathe, the wood gradually coming to a halt; it's a heavy piece, with incongruously delicate decorations already begun. It'll be beautiful when it's done, as all of Asta's work is, no matter that few dwarrows want wooden furniture.

"Anywhere but here." Gefion sits up a little. She's old enough now that she could take on a contract to deliver the piece Asta's working on, and her parents and brother can't tell her no. It would be an excellent way to get away from the Iron Hills for a season or more, and perhaps she can find something to go further. There must be caravans from Erebor to the Ered Luin? Though what she could offer as a reason to sign on, rather than having to pay her way, she doesn't know. Certainly to pay, she'd have to convince her family to provide her the money, and she has few doubts about that even being possible. And no matter what Asta says, her fishing is little enough a craft to find useful on a journey.

"I'll talk to Efram about drawing up a contract, then." Asta locks the treadle before she unclamps the piece, moving it to the other work-table with three other pieces that will be the legs of the chair. "It's wanted by Durin's Day, so it'll be late summer before it's on the caravan. You'll be responsible for most of your own supplies, though you'll not need to buy much of it before summer."

"I've some coin saved, and hopefully I'll have chance enough to catch some sturgeon before they're going back down the river. It's not a long trip to Erebor - only a few weeks, right?" Gefion meets Asta's gaze, a small frown on her face. "I don't need too much in the way of food or other supplies."

"Most caravans take a bit over a fortnight. I'd take a good three weeks worth of food, and don't you be packing too much cram, either. It's not long enough a trip for that to be needed, not this time of year."

Gefion nods, thinking about what she might get. "I'll have to pack up all my clothes - I don't want to come back after."

"If you're not coming back, you'll want to take most things you won't want to leave behind - but don't try taking any of the furniture from your room. You can always buy more later, after you earn a bit."

"And it'll be less expensive if I can carry most of what I'll want with me, won't it?" Gefion shifts, leaning forward so she can map out her thoughts on the floor, fingers dancing as she all but sees the lines she's tracing. "My spear, of course, and the long knives. My outdoor clothing, and perhaps one of the plainer dresses. My books."

"The books can be boxed and sent later, when you've room to put them if you're staying in Erebor. Easier to wait on those until you're settled," Asta points out, raising an eyebrow when Gefion pouts. "Maybe one or two, but not all of them. I know you have a small horde of them - I heard enough complaining about the expense of each new one."

Letting out a sigh, Gefion brushes away a mental note with the side of her hand, altering the mental map for retrieving books later. "And Erebor certainly has an extensive library - I'm sure I can find at least some of them again there to borrow. Perhaps even some new ones." And there's a heartening thought. New books to read that she doesn't have to figure out how to hide because they're frivolous, and take up time that could be better spent learning a craft befitting her station.

"Aye, there's that to be said for waiting on your books, as well." Asta is weighting down a sheet of parchment, probably the one with any drawings the dwarf who commissioned the work had sent. "I'll be hiring space in a wagon for the chair, easy enough to hire enough to carry food and clothing enough for you."

"Still, I ought to be able to carry anything that's not food." Gefion adjusts the invisible notes again, thinking of a few other things she'll want with her. Blankets, and her small chest with a few keepsakes she doesn't want to part with. "It'll make things easier if anything goes wrong."

Oh, she hopes nothing goes wrong - especially nothing that might harm the wagon, or the contents it will be carrying. But it's too early to start really worrying about that, with the chair not even carved, much less put together.

"If something goes wrong, I'll take the damages out of the hide of whoever causes the problem." Asta scowls a moment before shaking her head, beads in her hair clacking. "You best hope there isn't a chance you get to put that spear of yours in an orc rather than fish. I'll not want to tell your parents you were injured, or worse."

"I _am_ capable of fighting with that spear of mine, you know." Gefion frowns a little.

"I know. Doesn't mean if orcs raided you'd not be wounded." Asta pauses, looking up to meet Gefion's gaze steadily. "Even the best can be wounded. I'd wager even Dwalin War-Master has been wounded a time or two."

Gefion huffs at the mention of another of the heroes of Erebor, before shrugging. "It's not wounding I'd be afraid of, you know."

"Nor is a wound taken in battle the worst that could happen." Asta watches her a moment longer before turning back to the pieces of wood awaiting her attention. "Ah, but I am borrowing trouble. You think on what you'll want to pack to take with you, and what you'll want to be sent on once you've place. We'll find you a place to store it all packed before you leave, so you've no need to argue with that brother of yours to get it all after."

* * *

Gefion slams the door of her room as hard as she can manage, though she holds back the frustrated scream she wants to loose, reminding herself that she has a plan - a contract, even - to get out of the Iron Hills. On the other side of the stone door, she can hear the conversation beginning again, and stomps across to her bed, dragging her pillow over her head so she doesn't have to hear it.

Instead, she hears the echoes of earlier.

_"She's still barely more than a child." Elúthr isn't even bothering to look at Gefion as he speaks to their father. Not to their parents, but to their father, as if their mother had no part of the conversation, much less Gefion herself. "And there aren't really any dwarrows who'd be suitable to allow to court her, so why risk her in traveling even for this invite?"_

_The invitation, Gefion knows, is for the wedding of Erebor's Crown Prince. The one that she's heard more gossip about than she had wanted. Although she doesn't know if she's been explicitly invited, or if it's an invitation for the family._

_"Why should that keep me from coming with you?" Gefion scowls at her brother when he looks over at her with a pained expression. "I'm not helpless!"_

_Fafnir reaches over to rest his hand on her shoulder. "I know. But someone will need to watch over the mines during the month and more we'll be gone."_

_"What do we pay the accountant and the supervisors for, then?" Gefion thinks it's quite a reasonable argument, but the frowns on her father and brother's faces suggest they don't see it the same way. "Mother's going with you."_

_"And I need you to remain here." Fafnir squeezes her shoulder a moment, and Gefion shrugs her shoulders, pulling away from him._

_"I'm old enough to travel, and I don't see why I have to remain home. Was not the invite for all of us?"_

_"It was, but not all of us can go, Gefion." Fafnir frowns at her, and Gefion glares back at her father. "I need you to remain here, and watch over the mines. It's about time you took some responsibility and learned a useful trade, anyway. Past time."_

_Gefion blinks, and feels her jaw drop a little. "A_ useful _trade?" She's well aware of her own raised voice, something she's never done before to her father. "How is what I already do not useful?"_

_"Fishing is not a trade appropriate for your station, Gefion, and no dwarrow worthy of courting you is going to want a wife who fishes for her living." Fafnir is annoyingly calm about it, and Gefion barely reins in a screech of rage._

_"If someone can't want a hunter of sturgeon for a wife, than I wouldn't want them for a husband!" Gefion doesn't know how a conversation that was about her traveling came around to her apparent faults, but she doesn't give her father a chance to harp more on them, surging out of her seat and stomping down the hall toward her room._

And through it all, her mother had remained silent, her expression one of disapproval that deepened as Gefion had continued to argue. Gefion knows Vígdis has always wanted a daughter who followed more in her footsteps, polite and political and involved in court. Now, it's clear that Gefion is being a disappointment once more, since she's not what her mother wants, and she's not accepting her father's judgement on her preferred manner of earning her own income.

She bites her lip to keep silent, despite still wanting to scream. She has a way out. And perhaps this month and more without parents or brother looking over her shoulder will be a boon - she'll have time to pack what she cannot take with her, and move it to where Asta can retrieve it for her when she has room for it to be sent to her. That thought makes her draw a deep breath, and begin to calm.

Maybe she won't easily forgive her family for this, but at least she can make the most of it. Gefion smiles to herself a little, sharp and perhaps a little bitter, but still a smile. She'll manage. And she'll be free of them again when she takes the contract to deliver the chair Asta is carving.

All she has to do is figure out how to keep them from looking west too quickly, so she at least has a chance to get to Erebor, and find a place for herself there.

* * *

"I can have the chair done to go on a caravan before they return, if you'd prefer." Asta is carefully fitting the pieces together, with clever pins and wedges that blend into the carved decorations she's made on every surface save the seat itself. "And I can tell them you talked about going east, if they bother to ask."

Gefion doesn't think her parents will even think about asking Asta where to look for their wayward daughter, though her brother might. And sending Elúthr on a fruitless journey to the Orocarni and back has a certain appeal. Of course, she hadn't thought to leave before they returned, but she's glad she's come to Asta to tell her of the latest affront her parents have committed.

"I would dearly love that, though I can't leave too soon. I'm apparently in need of learning a more useful craft than fishing, and thus, am to take over Elúthr's job while he's with mother and father in Erebor." Gefion sighs, pacing the bare space near the window. "The invitation said Mid-Summer for the wedding date, so they'll not be home for at least three weeks after that - there will probably be parties to attend after, and two weeks to return home."

"More like a month. They'll travel slower than a typical caravan. Though I wouldn't put it past your brother to hurry himself home alone." Asta has a better read on Elúthr than Gefion had expected, but then, her brother has proven his ability to go to extraordinarily foolish lengths to keep an eye on her.

"Two weeks past mid-summer, then?" Gefion looks over at Asta, smiling hopefully. "Enough time for me to finish packing and removing my belongings from the family quarters, and to make sure the overseers at the mine are able to watch over it for at least a few days alone, perhaps as much as a week."

"Do you have a place already arranged to store them until you send for them?" Asta checks a fitting carefully before shaking her head, and wiggling the pieces apart to shave a thin paring of wood off one of the joins.

"There's a store room in the eastern tunnels that is the right size, and available for hire. I'll leave the key for it with you, so you can retrieve things as needed." Gefion leans against the wall next to the window, to keep herself still for a moment. "Is there a caravan leaving in the right time-frame?"

"It will be." Asta fits the pieces back together, smiling at the clean line of the join. "The glue will need a few days to cure, and then it's ready save for the last inlays of stone and sealing. That will take a week to dry properly, then it's all done save the caravan being gathered together. Maybe two weeks for the chair, and then I just tell the caravan master when it's to be delivered, so they know when to start to Erebor."

Gefion frowns, her brow furrowing. "The caravan you're sending the chair with is waiting on you?"

"Efram arranged the contract, including others who have goods to deliver or plan to emigrate there. They're all aware it's going to be summer, but also that there were some final details yet to be negotiated which would effect the date of departure. I can tell them now that the caravan is leaving a week and a half after mid-summer, if that works for you."

"A week past mid-summer, so they'll pass me mid-route or closer to Erebor." Gefion smiles gladly at Asta, wondering just why her long-time friend is doing this to help her.

"I'll tell Efram tonight." Asta leaves the chair on her workbench, coming over to Gefion, resting her hands on Gefion's shoulders. "You get everything of yours hidden where those vultures can't steal it back, and I'll arrange the rest. Take care of yourself, and find someone who makes you happy." She leans in to knock her head against Gefion's. "They should have been the ones to do this, instead of trying to press you into a mold you'd never fit."

Leaning into Asta a moment, Gefion lets herself be glad for the kin-comfort she'd only ever gotten from her family when a child, and not at all of late. The further she strays from the path they planned for her, the more they pull away, probably hoping to force her to change for the sake of their affection.

"Thank you," she says quietly, biting her lip when she realizes how close she is to tears, and tries to keep them from falling. It's no use, and Asta murmurs to let it go, let herself cry it all out. Holding her until the tears slow, and never mind that her tunic is all over snot and salt in the front when Gefion is calm again.

"Might do you some good to wash your face before you go back. Keep the vultures from knowing they upset you so much." Asta smiles a moment, before reaching out to ruffle Gefion's hair, drawing a scowl from Gefion. "Go on. You've not too much longer to manage them, then we'll have everything ready to set into motion."


	2. Part II: Arrival

"What are you waiting for?" Kíli is watching Bofur curiously as the miner - now mine-owner, really - watches the incoming caravan with an intentness that is amusing. Bofur's never come to the gates to watch the caravans that come from the east. From the west, oh yes, but then he's been watching for friends and more distant kin from the Ered Luin.

"A wagon." Bofur's lips twitch in a smile, and Kíli rolls his eyes. "Waiting on a commission from Master Asta. Message said it'll be in the first caravan after mid-summer."

Which is the caravan coming in. Kíli isn't certain why the crafter hadn't tried to get it ready for the caravan that had accompanied Dáin and a number of his nobles to Fíli's wedding, but then, he doesn't know what Bofur commissioned, or what sort of crafter Master Asta is.

"What's in the wagon?" Kíli watches the dwarrows and wagons as they come through the large outer gates as well, though he's not looking for anything in particular. He's just bored and hiding from Balin and Suliol and Thorin, and most of all from Fíli and Skadi. It's wonderful that his brother is in love, though the wedding would have happened even if he weren't. Kíli is happy for him, really, but sometimes he could just do without seeing the besotted look on Fíli's face.

"A present." Bofur isn't being terribly helpful, and Kíli pokes him in the shoulder in retaliation for the lack of information. "For me cousin, lad. Bifur deserves something beautiful, and Master Asta is one of the best."

"Best what?" Kíli watches another wagon as it comes in, two dwarrows on the seat, and the one not busy driving the ponies paying more attention to the great hall around them. Though not with the sort of awed reverence that a number of dwarrows who've arrived in - or even returned to - Erebor for the first time, but more of an assessing look, he thinks. Hard to tell for certain from where he stands, but Kíli's certain they're not as impressed as most.

"Furniture maker." Bofur seems to have fixed on a wagon, and starts through the crowd toward it. Kíli pushes along behind him, curious about what Bofur had commissioned for Bifur - because what could be grand enough and important enough to send a commission to the Iron Hills?

"Mistress Gefion?"

Kíli realizes as he follows Bofur that the wagon which had caught his attention earlier is the same one which apparently is bringing the commission Bofur had made. The one he'd watched - idly, really, because what else was there to watch but the people on the wagons? - looks over when Bofur calls, and smiles a moment when Bofur raises a hand to be better seen.

He loses sight of her as she hops off the wagon seat, though he continues to follow Bofur through the crowd until they're up next to the wagon itself, easy enough now to conduct a conversation.

"Master Bofur." Gefion has ducked around the back of the wagon, and comes closer, bowing slightly, though she doesn't stop - the wagon hasn't either, not really, as there are still more wagons in the caravan to make their way in. It forces them to walk as they talk, though they need not move very swiftly. "I've a cart to unload the chair onto, and Trígvi and I can bring it to wherever you need it to be moved."

"I'd a mind to do that myself, though I'll not refuse the help." Bofur glances at the covered wagon a moment before looking back at Gefion. "Ye mind if I get a look at the chair before it's unloaded?"

"I would mind more if you didn't, for all I do not fear Mistress Asta's work taking harm on the journey." Gefion's lips twitch up in a smile, and she gestures to the back of the wagon. "If you wish, you can look at it now."

Bofur grins, and it takes him only a moment to drop back and haul himself up onto the back of the wagon, leaving Kíli to walk with Gefion beside the wagon. She glances at him, but the deferential greeting he gets from too many dwarrows doesn't come as he expects. Only a quick nod, and a, "Gefion, at your service."

"Kíli, at yours." He ducks his head in as much of a greeting as he can while still walking along. When his name still doesn't elicit any of the usual reactions, he grins a little, though he wonders how she's managed not to hear of him, if she's from the Iron Hills.

Gefion gives him a slightly puzzled look at his grin, but doesn't ask what he's so cheerful about. "Are you kin to Master Bofur, then?"

"Not close kin, but distant cousins of a sort. More travel companions once." Kíli doesn't dare actually mention the Quest, in case she makes the connection and makes something of his still rather new rank. He knows he's technically been a prince all his life, but it hadn't meant anything until they'd reclaimed Erebor - and now it means all too much. "I was curious why he was waiting on the caravan coming in."

"Ah." Gefion smiles briefly, before falling back a little, Kíli keeping pace with her as they drop in behind the wagon. "Does the chair meet your approval, Master Bofur?"

Bofur looks up from where he's tracing some of the carvings Kíli can see on the rounded posts of the chair. "Aye, that it does. Mistress Asta does fine work."

"The best." Gefion smiles proudly, and Kíli wonders if this Asta is kin of hers. "I'll send the message back with Trígvi to that effect."

"Send back?" Kíli raises an eyebrow, giving Gefion a curious look.

She meets his gaze, and shrugs. "I'd not planned on returning to the Iron Hills. Rather thought I'd settle here, if I could."

Bofur looks up from his continuing inspection of the chair, watching Gefion with an expression that has as much curiosity as Kíli is feeling. "What's your mastery?"

"Fishing - particularly sturgeon." Gefion looks almost defensive about it, though why, Kíli isn't certain. Being able to catch the large fish is something that not everyone can manage. Kíli doesn't think there's anyone in Erebor who can, but perhaps that's only because he can't think of a time when he's had a chance to try sturgeon.

"Could you teach me?" he asks impulsively, and Gefion looks over at him with a momentarily startled expression. "I've never tried sturgeon before."

"You don't start fishing with sturgeon." Gefion is giving him a look Kíli can't read. "Especially not with a spear, and not at this time of year. They'll all be down toward the Inland Sea by now. Won't be back until spring."

"Then you'll have time to teach me how to use a spear to catch fish." Kíli grins brightly, and after a moment, Gefion returns it with one of her own, and an eye-roll.

"I can at least try." Gefion looks up toward the front of the wagon as it slows further, coming in as close to the main city as the great vaulted entryway and the rest of the line of wagons will allow, at least until the ones ahead are unloaded. "Do you want to wait until we're closer to the inner gates, or shall we unload the chair here, and haul it in on foot?"

The latter would allow Trígvi - at least, Kíli assumes the driver is Trígvi - to take the wagon from the line, and toward one of the outer sheds that are meant to house wagons for caravans preparing to depart. Kíli meets Bofur's gaze, signing that he'd be willing to lend a hand, if he wants to shorten the line of the caravan a little.

"Do you have someone to take room with already?" Bofur tilts his head in acknowledgement of Kíli's offer, but doesn't address it directly, turning his attention more to Gefion.

"No. I have coin enough to take up temporary lodgings, and I'll find work enough I'm sure to keep me fed and sheltered." Gefion shrugs. "I'm not of the mind to take space unpaid, even if I knew anyone in Erebor."

"There's a good lodging-house in the second deep, run by Valfreyr. Not too dear, for the depth of stone." Bofur shifts so he's sitting on the bottom of the wagon, clearly not planning to get out soon. "You have much with you?"

"The last of our share of supplies from the journey, a few changes of clothing, my spear, my personal things." Gefion glances at the line again before she hauls herself up on the end of the wagon, offering her hand to Kíli once she is settled. He takes it with a grin, though he can scramble up on his own; it's easier with someone to help. "Valfreyr doesn't rent out large rooms, does ne?"

Kíli settles against the side of the wagon, where he can watch Gefion and can see out from under the canvas that is bound over small hoops rather like a tent. A good thing, he supposes, with a piece as valuable as the chair Bofur had commissioned.

"Some are, some aren't." Bofur shrugs. "He doesn't open the largest ones most of the time, since they're really for families, and most of his lodgers aren't."

Gefion relaxes a little against the side of the wagon she's leaning against, which makes Kíli curious about why she doesn't like the idea of a large space. It can't be that she doesn't like open space - she came here overland, and she fishes.

"Why don't you like large rooms?"

"What's the point? I don't have anyone who'd come visiting, and not many things to need the space to put them out." Gefion's shoulders curl forward slightly, and she glances toward the front of the wagon, though they haven't gone very far. "I could carry it all on my back - we could easily unload the chair here, haul it in without taking up a space in the wagon-line."

Kíli winces at the blatant change of subject, not sure why his question had hit a sore spot, but clearly it had, and now he's gone and made Gefion uncomfortable. "I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, but he can at least apologize for his misstep.

Gefion stills, turning her head to look at him with a puzzled expression. "For what?"

"For making you uncomfortable." Kíli smiles carefully, trying to reassure her. "I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have asked anything."

She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, looking at him with an expression that is still more lost and puzzled than anything else. Kíli is pretty sure his expression isn't much different, since he's not sure what to do next, and he bites his lip, looking away. Catching the amused grin on Bofur's face as he turns his head, he rolls his eyes, wishing he had something to hand to toss at the older dwarf.

* * *

"So, who is she?" Síndri sinks into the pool next to Kíli, raising an eyebrow at him while she's reaching for the soap.

"Who is who?" Kíli had thought he'd seen Síndri when he'd been showing Gefion where the lodging-house was in the second deep, but he hadn't been certain until this ambush.

"The girl you were walking with this afternoon." Síndri snorts, giving him a long look. She knows he's not stupid, and she doesn't like him playing it. "I thought you hid from all the pretty ones."

Kíli shrugs. "She didn't even recognize me, when she came in on the caravan from the Iron Hills. It was nice." He ducks under the water to wet his hair, and avoid any further questions Síndri might ask, at least for a little while.

"That won't last long." Síndri is scrubbing her shoulders when he comes up, reaching as much as she can. "It's hard to avoid knowing who you are, in Erebor. What's her craft?"

"Fishing. She promised to teach me." Kíli grins at the eye-roll that Síndri greets that with. "She says she hunts sturgeon."

Síndri pauses, tilting her head. "What is a sturgeon?"

"A large river fish." Kíli shrugs. "It's supposed to be a fish of kings or something. I've never had any, though. Never even seen one." He's heard of them, though, which is more than Síndri, apparently. It's nice to know something she doesn't, even if he doesn't know much.

"Like the barazdagh." Síndri shrugs. "Or at least, if they're anything worth hunting, they are. Barazdagh are longer than a man is tall, and wide as a dwarrow. Strong bastards, too. Takes two dwarrows to catch one, and a sturdy anchor, or the fish will pull them into the river."

Kíli blinks and stares at Síndri. "Sturgeon aren't that big. I think," is the only thing he can't think to say, even as he tries to imagine a fish big enough to do that. "Nothing is that big in the river."

Síndri chuckles, and grins at him. "The River Running isn't the Long River, so I wouldn't imagine anything in it gets that large. Longest and biggest river in all Middle Earth, the Long River. Floods the land around it for miles in the wet season. It's why mercenaries don't go into Far Harad during that time of year." Síndri pauses, setting the soap on the edge of the pool. "Don't ever go into Far Harad, actually, come to think. That river of theirs is a menace."

"I didn't plan to." Kíli reaches for the soap himself, working lather across his shoulders and chest. "I can't go that far without being found out, anyway. One or another of them would send word back and then I'd get letters telling me to come home."

"With different ways of making you feel guilty for leaving in the first place." Síndri goes with his change of subject easily, though she gives him a small smile about doing it. "It's hard when you actually like someone in your family, to walk away from somewhere you can't be who you are."

And there was the crux of it, perhaps. Kíli actually likes being a prince, when he's solving problems or working with people who aren't trying to play some game whose end he can't see - what's the point in pretending to like him just to convince him he wants to marry a particular dwarrow? It's a piece of politics that's almost Mannish, he thinks.

"Harder to walk away if you like being what you're expected to be, just not all the parts of it." Kíli ducks under the water a moment after setting the soap back down. "It's just been worse since Fíli began courting Skadi. Like everyone thinks that now he's married, I'm some sort of target."

"You are." Síndri rolls her eyes, starting in on unbraiding her hair so she can wash it. "Everyone knows that whoever marries you brings their family that one step closer to royalty, and there are political favors to exchange and prestige to be had, as well as opportunities that those further from the royal family just can't achieve. You're not the only one who has to fend them off with a stick, you know. Though I think most people are a little more wary around Master Dwalin since the company arrived."

Kíli chuckles, moving to the ledge around the edge of the pool again, so he can sit and scrub his feet. "I don't know. He started going around with his war hammer on his back for several months when there was that persistent dwarrow from the Lavamabbad."

Snorting, Síndri grins. "Only until Vorkha and Bjarkha took nem aside, and told nem the way to win Master Dwalin's affection. That was entertaining, though." Her grin widens when Kíli winces in memory of that particular scene. It had effectively discouraged anyone else who thought about courting Dwalin, though.

"I just wish there was some way to keep suitors away from me." Kíli sets his feet on the bottom of the pool again, leaning back against the rim. "Other than seriously flirting with Tílithluin, or the other elves," he adds, before Síndri can do more than give him a speculative look.

"Even that wouldn't work, you know." Síndri holds out her hand for the soap, and Kíli hands it over. "You'd have to actually marry one of them, or anyone, really, for the most persistent to stop trying."

"And if I don't want to?" Kíli isn't sure he will or not, though perhaps if he meets the right sort of dwarrow, he might. It's not something he really has had to think about before, and doesn't want to think about now. Learning the skills of the Smith, beyond the familiar work of turning iron and steel into tools and weapons, is engrossing enough. And perhaps learning some other skills, like the spear-fishing that Gefion had mentioned as her craft.

"Find someone - other than me, thank you - who is happy to ignore you as much as you ignore them. Preferably someone without family who will expect political favors for the privilege." Síndri shrugs, gesturing for him to turn around so she can scrub his back. "It makes you unavailable for that sort of political maneuvering, and you don't have to worry about distractions from your work and craft."

"But if I fall in love later, then I'll be trapped." Kíli sighs, leaning back a little as Síndri works soap over his back. "Which means I'll have to live with other dwarrows constantly trying to convince me of the merits of one or another spouse."

"Probably." There's silence after Síndri's agreement, and Kíli takes the soap back when she's done with his back, so he can return the favor. She's given him the sort of advice he thinks Fíli would have, if his brother weren't currently busy figuring out married life himself, and leaving Kíli to his own devices. It's like having an older sister, as well as an older brother.

* * *

Flopping onto his bed, Kíli stares at the ceiling for a long moment. He's not sure what to do about Síndri's advice, but he does know one thing. A smile creeps across his face as he thinks about it. Even if he doesn't find someone, it will annoy everyone trying to pair him off if he runs around with a fisher, and ignores all those who try to put themselves in his way in the hopes of a wedding.

* * *

Looking around at the small room she's negotiated a more than fair price for, Gefion smiles to herself. All her own, with no brother to look over her shoulder, no parents to disapprove of everything she does. A bit far from friendly faces, too, perhaps, but she'll find new friends. Perhaps even has the start on one or another, if Kíli even remembers his desire to learn to fish.

Sitting on the bed, she reaches down to unlace her boots. Kíli. The name seems like it should be familiar, but for now, the connection eludes her. In the morning, perhaps. It doesn't matter, not when she's finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just the story of Gefion and Kíli meeting, rather than an epic love story. The muses are planning to spread the epic love story out further, so there will be more later.


End file.
